


Imagine All the Pain That Might Be Forgiven

by writerjesus



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Disabled Character, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Reichenbach, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 19:40:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16271009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerjesus/pseuds/writerjesus
Summary: When you go to war, it leaves you with scars, mental and physical. When you work for a criminal mastermind, you get physical scars. When your boss/flatmate/boss with benefits/sometimes friend/almost lover kills themself, any emotional pain that was once healed gets ripped back open. But Sebastian is a strong man and heals himself in whatever way he can. When said almost lover comes back from the dead... well. It's a little more complicated.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write about Sebastian's PTSD for a while now but I was always hesitant since I know little about it and don't want to offend anyone. This AU came into my head and wouldn't let me go so I had to write it out. I'm sorry for any inaccuracies or potential romanticizing of mental illness. I don't exactly agree with Sebastian's POV, for the record. (The disabled character tag becomes relevant in chapter two, and I'll add more detailed tags later.)

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was a common diagnosis for discharged soldiers. This was a fact that Sebastian Moran was all too familiar with. Before the dishonorable discharge, while on leave, he’d have therapist after therapist recommended to him for his time at home. None of them did much good. After all, he was never home long enough to focus on “adjusting to civilian life”. At that point in time, he was sure that he’d die on the battlefield. 

  
But instead, he traded one battlefield for another. Instead of sand thick in the air and on his tongue, he now had smoke fill his lungs as he sat on rooftops for hours. Working for Moriarty was nothing short of war and Sebastian was a trained killer. It was a match made in Hell. 

 

So it was only a matter of time before the wars around him caught up to him. 

 

The first dream happened after two years of working for Moriarty. He’d been promoted from just a sniper to bodyguard. Right hand man, they called him. It never much felt like that. Moriarty was entirely self-sufficient. It was entirely a matter of self preservation that he had Sebastian live with him... not that the blond minded. If the other men thought he was deadlier because of his proximity to Moriarty, then so be it. It probably wasn’t far from the truth. 

 

The dream came suddenly, without warning. He’d later find out that the dream would always be the same. The first thing he’d notice was the air, thick with blood. His vision was soaked red, likely from the blood dripping down his head or the ominous red moon in the sky. There were bodies everywhere. Some he recognized, most he didn’t. He moved at a snail’s pace, crawling on his hands and knees. He was yelling but there was no sound. It didn’t stop him from shouting, though, for help. Then taunts for his enemies to come finish him off. Then begging to whatever god was watching him, to just end the suffering. But only silence met him. It dragged on, swallowing him whole. 

 

And when he woke, he was sitting upright. His heart was thundering in his chest and his body was drenched in sweat. His throat hurt. His yelling wasn’t just in the dream.

 

Moriarty was watching him from the doorway, he realized belatedly. Sebastian cleared his throat and looked at him, head still held high despite his shaking. (What more did a broken man have besides his pride?) He didn’t know what to say to break whatever tension hung in the air. If that wasn’t a testament for how out of it he was, he wasn’t sure what was. 

 

Moriarty still said nothing as he entered the room and shut the door behind him. He stood by Sebastian’s bedside, their eyes locked. “Should I be booking you a therapy session, Tiger?” He asked, his voice low and serious. 

 

Sebastian shook his head. “No sir.”  And that was that. The matter wasn’t brought up again. 

 

Moriarty nodded. “Very well.” He sat down on the edge of Sebastian’s bed, finally turning his gaze to the door. “Go back to sleep. You’re safe now.” If Moriarty could sound soothing, now would be the time. “The war doesn’t exist here, in this room, Sebastian.” His own name sounds foreign in the soft tone Moriarty has adopted. Still, it soothed him like a balm. He laid back down and fell back to sleep with relative ease. 

 

When he woke the next morning, Moriarty was gone. Back in his office, he had no doubt. 

 

And it wasn’t discussed again. Sebastian was treated no differently: the same gruelling jobs and harsh demands, the barked orders and a couple of new scars from his boss. It was perfect. Sebastian wouldn’t be able to take it if he was suddenly treated like some delicate doll. 

 

The next dream didn’t happen for months. Same dream, same results. Moriarty sat at his bedside as Sebastian slept for a few more hours. And when the next came, their routine continued. They never spoke about it. They didn’t acknowledge it… But it was a routine nonetheless. 

 

When they start sleeping together, Moriarty told him that it was just sex. There was no emotional attachment, nor should Sebastian expect it… Which was fine, in Sebastian’s mind. After all… he was already in love with his boss. At least the ugly, jealous part of him could be contented with the fact that Moriarty wasn’t sleeping with anyone else but him. 

 

They were forced to talk about it, though, on one particular job. Sebastian was in Sydney for a few days and Moriarty stayed back in their flat in London. It wasn’t a particularly difficult job, but it was delicate so Moriarty trusted Sebastian to take care of it. It wasn’t stressful… so Sebastian wasn’t sure why he had a Bad Night, as he had taken to calling them. 

 

He was at a loss of what to do. He was sitting up in his hotel room, panting and panicked… and he was alone. There was no Moriarty there to keep him safe, to tell him things were okay, to put his mind at ease. (The fact that Sebastian relied on him that much was cause for panic altogether.) Sebastian eventually grabbed his phone and called Moriarty’s number. He saw that the alarm clock on the bedside table read 4:00am. 7 in the evening in London. 

 

Moriarty picked up on the second ring. “What is it?” He asked, curt and professional. Sebastian didn’t say anything, couldn’t. He didn’t know what to say, how to ask for help… because that’s what he was doing. He was calling for Moriarty’s help, like this was another job that Moriarty could just fix. The shame threatened to swallow him whole. He hadn’t felt this weak since he was a boy. 

 

After a few moments of silence, Moriarty’s tone grew sharper. “Moran, what is it? Did something go wrong?” It sounded strangely like concern. 

 

Sebastian coughed and shook his head even though he knew Moriarty couldn’t see it. “N-no. Job’s fine.” The waver in his voice made him sick. 

 

It was like a switch had been flipped. Moriarty’s voice softened, quieted. “Oh Tiger. You’ll be home soon. You’re safe. I have men stationed all around your hotel. Didn’t tell you. Couldn’t have you be getting soft on me. But you’re safe, Sebastian.” 

 

At another time, Sebastian might’ve been annoyed that Moriarty had withheld information from him. But for now, he was just comforted by Moriarty’s voice in his ear. He laid back down, phone pressed to his ear despite how uncomfortable it was. 

 

Maybe Sebastian was just an easy man to read or Moriarty was… kinder than he ever let on, but regardless… Moriarty’s voice continued on. Mundane updates on their underlings, complaints on the weather, the like. As Sebastian drifted off to sleep, he thought he heard Moriarty’s voice lilt… almost like he was reading something to him. Poetry, maybe? He fell asleep before he could decipher it. 

 

The next morning, Sebastian found his phone nearly dead. But it flashed, alerting him of a text. 

 

_ Now be a good Tiger and do your job. Your flight home leaves in three hours. -M _

 

* * *

 

After that, something shifted. Sebastian wasn’t complaining in the slightest. Moriarty was… softer. He wasn’t Moriarty, in the comfort of their flat after a long day. He was Jim. Jim, who liked his tea with milk and one sugar. Jim, who hated Sebastian’s choice of music, but also bought him speakers that he could use in the shower so Sebastian could sing along in the morning. Maybe he had passed some kind of test? Some kind of trial that he was indeed worthy of Jim’s trust. If he did, Sebastian was happy. 

 

Their life was far from perfect. They still had their professional relationship, which they both silently agreed was far more important than… whatever happened behind closed doors. The jobs were still long and gruelling, always unpredictable since Jim liked to withhold information. (“Can’t have you getting dull now, darling.” He had teased with that smirk that Sebastian loved and hated.)  They still fought which always ended with Sebastian bloodied and scarred. But it all didn’t matter because Jim was still waiting at their flat for him when he came home, and he’d help Sebastian stitch up whatever cuts he’d left. It wasn’t bliss but it was more than Sebastian had ever dared to hope for.

 

Sebastian knew he wasn’t clever like Jim, knew he couldn’t hold a candle. But he did feel like he could read people reasonably well… Which is why he felt like a fool for not seeing it coming. For not seeing Sherlock Holmes take Jim away before it was far too late. He should’ve known. The night before, they had sex but it wasn’t like normal. Jim was… slow, sweet. They held each other and kissed and Sebastian had been so happy, he almost cried. He almost said those three words… but he remembered that this wasn’t a sentimental arrangement. Maybe they’d talk about it later, he figured. But for that moment, he was just so happy to be in love with this man who held him like that. 

 

* * *

 

He did not cry. Sebastian went to work. The first week was the worst. The first week had Sebastian in a morgue, looking at his body on a cold and unforgiving slab. The first week had Sebastian finding a will in his room, waiting for him like one might find a love note. It had details of the Empire they had built together, how to run it, a cheat sheet essentially. The flat, whatever other properties Moriarty owned, the cars, everything, were signed over to Sebastian. 

The first week had Sebastian play the part of Moriarty, testing his patience and his ability to think on his feet. He understood why Jim had slept so little. There was no time. One wrong move would end with burned hands and a warrant on his head. 

 

Somehow, Sebastian lasted two months before he had a Bad Night. And while the dreams themselves were bad, it was the waking up that hurt more. In the dark, staring at the wall, Sebastian was faced with the truth. He was alone. Jim was dead. Jim left him alone. The tears fell without his consent. His hands moved by themselves, calling Jim’s number. His voicemail was an automated recording, so he couldn’t even be comforted by his voice then… Still, for the first time, he was able to speak after the dream. 

 

“You… you left. You left me. You’re not here anymore. I don’t… I can’t understand it. How am I supposed to do this? You left me everything but I don’t want it. I never wanted it. I just wanted you. You’re a genius. You had to have known that, right? I lov-- It doesn’t matter now, does it? None of it matters because you’re not fucking here… Please don’t be gone. Please. I won’t complain about you waking me up early. I won’t make fun of your bedhead. I won’t complain about long jobs. I won’t- fuck- I won’t do whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want. So… please don’t be gone. Please don’t. Come home, Jim. Come back and tell me this is all just some stupid fucking prank. Please come and wake me up from this nightmare. Please. I can’t… I can’t do this alone. Please don’t leave me.” 

 

The automated voice alerted him that he had reached the maximum recording time and asked if he wanted to re-record his message. Sebastian hung up the phone. He got out of bed. No time for sleep. There was work to do…  That's what Moriarty would've wanted. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim comes back. Sebastian's changed, but not in the way that Jim expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Jim's POV now.

Three years was a very long time to be dead. Not as long as the average death, sure, but Jim was all too aware what his death meant. It meant that, most likely, Sherlock would also be alive. It was a game of chess. Jim had to secure the key parts of his empire, while baiting Sherlock into thinking that he was destroying important pillars in it. He also had to divert Sherlock’s attention away from Sebastian… All while being dead. It was an impossible feat but Jim was good at the impossible.

 

Still, it took far longer than he would’ve liked. Three years was a long time to be without Sebastian, someone whom he’d shared near a decade of time with. His time away had made him realize that he wasn’t nearly as heartless as he had thought.

 

See, his original had been simple. Fake his death, get off of Sherlock’s radar and _bam_! Surprise him in a few years’ time to continue their game, with more resources and new tricks and traps. He just had to burn everything behind him… including any employees under his wing. They were all disposable, after all…

 

The night before The Fall, as Jim had come to call it, had revealed a flaw in his plan. One, and only one, person had slipped under his defenses. Sebastian Moran, his right hand, his most trusted and powerful. Sex wasn’t an uncommon act between them, but that night had been different. Jim did it on purpose. He had intended it to be a goodbye, giving Sebastian the hint of sentiment that the sniper so obviously desired. A glimpse of what could’ve been, so to speak. But ultimately it hurt Jim in a way that he thought he had left behind, in that pool with Carl Powers: that hurt that was so disgustingly and characteristically _human_.

 

So he revised his plans, left Sebastian instructions on how to keep the empire going. He left Sebastian everything he could possibly want, to tide him over. For his plan to work, Sebastian had to be left in the dark. If Sebastian knew he was alive, who knew what he’d do. Look for him, probably, and then Jim’s whole plan would be ruined. No, he couldn’t risk it. Sebastian had to believe Jim was dead.

 

Despite his best efforts, Jim was human. He resisted temptation as long as he could, until he deemed it safe enough, before he started peaking back into their London life. At that point, it had been two years after The Fall. Through the assistance of wifi and a laptop, he did a little digging. He knew what to look for, so it was easy to tell: the empire was, overall, going well. There weren’t any large scale jobs going on, but that was to be expected. Things were in order and Jim felt his chest fill with pride. His tiger was proving himself.

 

The thought to check his phone was an afterthought. He almost didn’t, nearly just tossed it out to replace it with a burner phone. Something compelled him to check it. That’s when he heard Sebastian’s voicemail. The time stamp showed it was a couple months after his “death”.

 

The tremble in Sebastian’s voice, the audible grief, the pleas, everything… it hit Jim like a physical blow. He was stunned, not by surprise, but by his own guilt. Shame. He… supposed he did know that Sebastian’s affection towards him was strong but he hadn’t thought they would linger… Surely Sebastian would understand the logistics once Jim explained himself. That’s what he hoped.

It wasn’t difficult to hack into the security system, to let himself into the flat. It was a valiant effort though, on Sebastian’s part. It took Jim nearly ten minutes to break in.

 

He went to his office, finding it… remarkably untouched. It wasn’t covered in dust which meant that Sebastian had been in the room, but just… chose not to use it. Sentiment, probably. He sat down in his chair and waited.

 

Not long after, Sebastian came home. Jim closed his eyes and listened. Sebastian wasn’t a fool; he would’ve noticed that the door was open, that the flat had been infiltrated. He was probably stalking the place, making sure that there wasn’t someone hiding, waiting to pounce. It didn’t take long for Sebastian to reach the office, gun in hand.

 

Jim did a slow turn in his chair to face the door, his hands folded in front of him like a Bond villain. “Still sharp as ever, Tiger.” He greeted. He watched Sebastian’s eyes widen, his lips part in shock, disbelief. His face flashed over several different emotions before he forced a blank face. The blond raised his gun, his hands steady.

 

Jim raised his hands in mock surrender. “It really is me, Seb. I can explain it all, if you’d sit and join me.” He motioned to the chair opposite his desk. “Come now, sit, listen. Then you can shoot me if you’re still so inclined.”

 

Sebastian paused, weighing his options… and then the gun was tucked back in its holster. His shoulders sagged as he sat in the offered seat, a tired sigh escaping him. A silent invitation to continue.

 

Jim explained how he faked his death, similarly to how Irene Adler had faked her all those years ago. (“How do you think she learned her tricks? Who do you think supplied the body?” He had laughed.) Then he updated Sebastian on what he’d done afterwards… and why. He left out his original intentions. Those details could always come later, once the dust settled. “Despite how it may seem to you, I had done it to keep everything safe, Sebastian.” Full first name, a sign of honesty. “To keep you safe, before and after I returned.”

 

Sebastian was silent the entire time, just listening to Jim’s explanation. Once Jim finished, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. The quiet dragged on until Sebastian got up from his seat, turned on his heel, and left. The sniper slammed the door behind him.

 

Overall, it was a better reaction than Jim had anticipated. Time. He’d give Sebastian time to sort out his thoughts… and they’d go from there.

 

* * *

 

 

The silence dragged on for a few days and Jim’s patience was waning. Sebastian was in and out of the flat, on jobs and such, but he had a considerable amount of downtime. During those times, he’d clean his guns, clean the flat, cook, go about his day, like Jim didn’t exist. Jim tried to understand that Sebastian needed time but enough was enough.

 

That night, Sebastian was in his room reading. Jim let himself in, grabbed the book, and tossed it aside before straddling Sebastian’s lap. It wasn’t a particularly sexual position, but it did give Jim the chance to look down at Sebastian and force them to look at each other. “Have you stopped pouting now?” He asked, mockery coating his otherwise honest question.

 

Sebastian grabbed Jim by his shirt collar, his breathing heavy and harsh as his face flushed with anger. It was that moment that Jim realized that this was the first time the two of them had touched since his return. Sebastian seemed to also realize this as his grip loosened on his shirt. The sniper’s other hand moved to cup Jim’s face. He always had rough hands but Jim never minded. Jim leaned slightly into the touch, his voice softer now, similar to how he’d talk to Sebastian after his nightmares. “I am actually here, Sebastian.”

 

The words sparked something in Sebastian. Or rather, they broke something in him. His head fell forward to rest on Jim’s chest. His crying was quiet but his frame shook from the force of his sobs. Jim held him through the tremors, hushing and cooing like a mother would do to her child. They stayed like that for a while, until Sebastian composed himself.

 

When they do finally part, Jim smiled fondly. “Still nothing to say? Cat got your tongue?” He teased.

 

The smile that Sebastian gave was filled with irony.

 

It seemed that the problem wasn’t physical. Jim had a doctor come by just to make sure. His lungs, vocal chords, everything, were perfectly healthy. (Or as perfect as someone who liked cigarettes a little too much could be.) His speech should be uninhibited. Selective mutism is what the doctor diagnosed; a mental disorder rather than a physical one. The doctor found it odd that Sebastian, having previously spoken before with no inhibitions, had developed it suddenly.

 

Jim sent him away before he offered therapy as an option. He knew Sebastian’s aversion to it, despite how it would probably help in this case. It did leave Jim wondering though. For some reason, Sebastian had locked his words away…  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think or if there's anything you particularly would like to see in this fic. Do you like the mix of POVs or would you rather like one consistent POV?
> 
> Also. The title is a lyric from What If by Five for Fighting.


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